Just Another Day at the Beach
by FotoBridgeT2
Summary: Hotch had treated Emily Prentiss with cool professionalism throughout her time at the BAU--so what is he supposed to think when HIS feelings toward his suborinate change? Follows my story Horror Movies, Stats, etc, and before Emily's Mr. Right. COMPLETE H


JUST ANOTHER DAY AT THE BEACH

_Follows my story Horror Movies, Statistics, and a Lifetime, and is part of my larger collection. _

Emily was finally relaxed. Finally had the horrific images from a South Dakota stone mill out of her head. She lay back, feeling the sun beating down on her skin, the soft sand beneath her blanket just the right firmness, the sound of the waves cresting along the beach washing away the horrific screams of a sixteen year old girl.

It was a perfect day.

"You look so hedonistic." Garcia snorted beside her from her own position on the blanket.

"Mmmm. I feel wonderful. I'm glad you suggested this." Emily stretched her legs out, pointing her toes toward the ocean just a few yards away.

It was still a bit too cold to swim—even though the morning was a bit unseasonably warm, but the sun and the sand—and her two blonde friends—made this the most perfect escape from what had turned out to be a hellish case. It had been awful, the bodies of teenagers deliberately crushed beneath tons of thick, heavy, stones. Emily herself had fallen down one of the enclaves. Had scraped her leg and bruised her hip before catching herself eighteen feet down on a root. Derek and Rossi had had to come help her up. It had not been one of her better BAU moments. But it could have been worse—it had been another twenty feet down if she'd not caught herself.

But that was in the past now. And all she had to do was stretch out on the warm sand, letting the sun kiss the skin not covered by her red bikini—that Garcia had insisted she wear special for today. JJ was in a similar pose, though her blue tankini wasn't half as revealing as Emily's. Of course—Emily had just a bit more to reveal than the girl-next-door blonde. Garcia'd picked out JJ's suit, too, since neither of the other two women had even owned a swimsuit. Garcia'd purchased both women's suits and had simply shown up on Emily's door, before dragging her to JJ's.

Neither woman had really protested too much. So they all found themselves spread out over the sand, enjoying the completely care-free joys of Virginia Beach.

BAUBAUBAUBAUBAUBAUBAUBAU

Hotch watched Spencer and Derek through the office window, smiling to himself as Spencer engaged in what could only be another long spiel. Derek just waved his hand in the younger man's direction, a look of impatience on his face.

Hotch doubted either man wanted to be there. Any more than he did. But the BAU's team A had to have at least three members present at any one time, and the girls had deserved the day off. Especially after South Dakota. Especially Emily.

She'd nearly given him a heart attack when she'd fallen. He'd wanted nothing more than to run to her. Make sure she was ok. But he knew she wouldn't welcome it, so he'd stayed back. Let Morgan swoop in to the rescue. It was always Morgan she turned to. She laughed with.

But it had been him she'd been curled around the night before last. Him she'd laid so close to. Him, who'd held her through her nightmares.

Him she'd woken up on. Him who saw the intense blush, the intense embarrassment, that covered her sleep-softened face. Him she'd backed away from as if scalded.

Did she really dislike him that much?

He'd woken early, long before anyone else had. The hay had been under his shirt, and he'd always had an allergy to the grass. He'd wanted nothing more than to reach back and scratch the hell out of his skin. But he couldn't. Both his arms were wrapped tightly around someone. And he'd known immediately it wasn't Hayley. He'd not slept beside her in nearly nine months—or was it ten?

He'd opened his eyes and saw dark curls. Smelled the sweet scent of strawberries. Known exactly who it was curled over his chest, her knee raised over his hip. Known exactly whose chest was pressed tightly against his side.

He'd woken up harder than he had in months. Just because his subordinate was pressed against him. _Prentiss _of all people. The one person on his team who'd confused him since the day she'd arrived. The one person he really couldn't read all that well. Who'd he'd not trusted, and who'd obviously cared very little for him.

Dave had called it right, the night before—Hotch realized he had been hyper-aware, hyper-vigilant of Emily since almost the very beginning.

He'd merely disguised it as being protective of his unit, his team, against whom he'd thought was a Strauss-planted mole.

He'd learned his lesson there, the day she'd informed him of her hatred for politics—and those who played them. How she'd let him know without saying a word that she considered him one of those political players. How her added _sir _had contained just enough disdain to be nearing disrespectful.

Her feelings apparently hadn't changed toward him since that day. And if he was brutally honest, it was his fault. He'd ruthlessly shunned her every overture of friendship, kept a cold shield between them that she couldn't have missed.

So she'd went in a different direction, treating him no differently than he'd treated her—all the while becoming an integral part of the team around him. It was Derek she'd trusted to climb down and get her off that drop. Rossi's instructions that she'd heard, even over Hotch's. She'd barely even acknowledged that he was there, too.

She treated him as if he wasn't even there. Just the boss she had to report to everyday, but no one special. No one she wanted to even try to get to know.

She treated him just like he'd treated her, and who could blame her?

But it had felt so good having her pressed against him. Felt so right lying there replaying Dave's words in his head over and over. "You're afraid of letting her get too close. And she could, much closer than JJ or anyone else. Probably even Hayley. And you know it, too. It's why you act as if you don't trust her, when in reality—it's yourself you don't trust, not around her, anyway."

Was Dave right? Was he so aloof with her because he was afraid?

What did it even matter? Nothing would come of this new…_awareness…_he had for her. Nothing could. Neither was the type to let something as base as sex interfere with their careers.

As if she'd even look in his direction. As if she'd even need to. Hotch wasn't a blind man, he'd seen the way some of the local LEOs had looked at her. Had seen the smiles, the casual brushes against her.

He had no clue if she'd ever taken any of them up on their offers, but he knew there had been plenty.

So why would she ever want someone who'd treated her the way he had?

She wouldn't.

And he doubted he could change her mind—they weren't even anywhere close to being something as simple as friends—there was no way they could move to being lovers.

His musings were interrupted by a knock and he turned to see Dave.

"Hey, Aaron. I've just finished my report on South Dakota. Hell of a case." Dave sank into the chair across from Hotch's desk and crossed one ankle over his knee. "It was a little too close. Emily could have been killed."

"I know." Hotch's face grew even more grim. "And that damned Paterson will be facing an IA board for being drunk on the job."

"If he hadn't bumped her." Rossi said. "Still, we probably shouldn't have let Derek be the one to escort him to his chief's vehicle. I heard they might file a complaint against him."

Derek had been the first one to realize the LEO was drunk. Had seen the man's hands as they'd reached for Emily. He'd seen Emily move to evade the drunken groping. Had watched his friend fall over the edge of a forty foot drop.

Once they'd pulled the woman up to safety, and she was being fussed over by JJ and Rossi, Derek had went after Paterson. Hotch had started to berate the man until the reasons for Derek's ire had been explained to him. Hotch had then given Derek permission to lead the younger officer to the waiting squad car. They'd brought him up on assault charges—and Hotch meant to see to it, they stuck.

Emily could have been killed, right there beside them.

And it ate at Hotch that it was Morgan who felt he had the right to defend her. Hotch had never been jealous of Morgan in the entire time he'd worked with the younger man. Until this case. Until he'd let himself see her as more than just a teammate, a subordinate.

And now he knew how he felt, and could do nothing about it.

And he had no one to blame but himself.

"The complaint will go nowhere." Hotch said in response to Dave's words. "Paterson endangered the lives of all who were on that cliff—and could have seriously injured one of our agents."

"My heart stopped seeing her go over that edge. Seeing her face when she realized she was going to fall." Rossi admitted, his eyes trained on the younger man's face. "I don't think I breathed until we realized she was only about halfway down."

Hotch nodded, not saying anything. Her eyes had met his, and the fear was something he'd be seeing in his dreams for a long time to come.

"And then to have her calling up to Morgan, laughing about him being her hero in real life." Rossi said, "If I was ten years younger, I'd be head over heels for that woman."

"Hmm." Hotch moved to sit behind his desk. His eyes didn't meet Dave's. "It was too close."

"Scared me." Rossi leaned forward a bit. "Scared you, too."

"Yes."

"I saw your face yesterday morning." Rossi admitted. "After you woke. Saw the way you were looking at her."

"And?" Hotch's body tensed. What was Rossi getting at?

"And? Are you going to do something about it? Go after her?" Rossi's tone was patient, slightly patronizing. "Make a move?"

"Excuse me?"

"You're free, she's free. Both the right age, have a lot in common. It makes sense." Rossi explained. "And I know you've noticed how attractive she is."

"_She _happens to be my subordinate."

"Like that doesn't happen all the time around here. Look at Jack Malone over in Missing Persons. Don't tell me you didn't know about him at that blonde on his team. And it happens a lot higher on the food chain than you. Don't let the Bureau be an excuse."

"How about the fact that she and I haven't exactly been too congenial in the time she's been here." Hotch informed him. "I don't think she likes me any more than she does Erin Strauss."

"Umm. That's probably your fault, Aaron. So what are you going to do about it?"

"Absolutely nothing." Hotch said, firmly. "What would be the point of even trying. She'd never see me as anything more than her supervisor—and one she doesn't even like, at that."

"You, Aaron Hotchner, are a bit of a coward. But we'll leave it at that for now."

Before Hotch could retaliate, the phone on Hotch's desk rang. "Hotchner."

Both men moved to an alert-stage, knowing the call most likely signaled a new case.

And half the team was missing.

Hotch disconnected the phone after saying, "We'll be there shortly. I need to gather my team."

"Where?" Rossi asked, standing.

"Virginia Beach PD. The sixth body just washed ashore. It looks to be the work of a Satanic cult." Hotch's mouth twisted, wryly.

"I'll grab the boys and meet you in the conference room. I'll have Derek call the girls." Rossi said as he exited Hotch's office. "And they were so looking forward to having the day off."

"That's the job." Hotch said, grimly. "We all know it."

"I know, but damn—don't they deserve a break once and a while?"

BAUBAUBAUBAUBAUBAUBAUBAUBAU

Emily was asleep, Garcia determined. Her friend lay face down, arms pillowing her dark-head, as the sun beat down upon them. Garcia's eyes caught on the exposed skin of Emily's left hip, where the flesh was red, raw, and bruised from her nasty tumble off a cliff.

Once again, it had been too close. But Wonder Woman had persevered, and was in one piece in front of Penelope—sound asleep on the sand. The sand JJ was currently playing in.

"I always loved the beach." The younger blonde admitted, digging a little trench. "Not for the water. Just for the sand. I always wanted a sandbox—but my mother didn't think it was girly-enough."

"So we don't have a sandbox—but we have Virginia Beach." Garcia said, conspiratorially.

"We're being stared at." JJ said, matter-of-factly, motioning with one sand-covered hand to a trio of men who'd been playing beach volley ball. They were young—thirties, maybe—strong, and tanned. And if JJ and Garcia weren't already taken, they might have engaged in some mild beach flirtation.

"Bet they'll come over here." Garcia said, seeing the way the men were eying their little party. "Wake Em up."

JJ shook Emily awake and the brunette semi-consciously rolled on her back, showing the trio of men, exactly what had been pressed to the sand. She sat up, lazily, pushing the hair—curling wildly—off of her forehead. She slid her dark glasses over her eyes and looked around. "Have I mentioned what a perfect day this is?"

"Well, we're about to have company." JJ said, snickering as the white volleyball the men had been tossing around landed a few feet from her pseudo-sand-castle.

Sure enough it wasn't thirty seconds before the three men were at their blanket.

But it wasn't two minutes before JJ's cell phone rang where it lay on the blanket beside her. She laughed politely at the man trying to charm her. "I really need to answer this, it's probably my boss."

He smiled, flirtatiously, as the conversation around them stalled. Garcia and Emily were attempting to send the other two men packing, but they weren't exactly taking the hint as they flirted humorously.

"Jareau." JJ answered, "Hey, Dave. Hang on, let me put you on speaker."

JJ flipped the button, and Dave's voice sounded. "We have a case, and we're going to need you three in. Possible Satanic cult near Virginia Beach. How soon can you three meet us there?"

"Dammit, Dave. We're already at Virginia Beach." Emily said, sighing. Ignoring the three beach-Romeos hovering near her feet. Most of the attention had been focused on her from the get-go, ever since Garcia and JJ had admitted to the three men that they were involved with people. "It is our day off, you know."

"I know." Dave said, apologetically. "But it's a bit of a fiasco. Team B was already up there—and two members of the team managed to get themselves shot while playing poker, and another is out with food poisoning. We've been called in to clean things up—and quickly."

"Dave. We're at the beach. No weapons, no badges." JJ told him.

Garcia snorted, looking at her two friends, as the three men wondered away in search of other prey. Nothing like a woman talking about cults and weapons to frighten a guy off. "No clothes."

"Hell." Emily said, reminded of what she was wearing—wasn't wearing. "Dave—you'll have to stop by my place and get me some clothes. We have nothing suitable for work here with us. I have a ready-bag packed. Closet behind the front door, my gun and badge are in beside it."

"And I have a bag by my desk. My weapon and badge are in the top drawer, there's a spare key taped to the bottom of the bottom drawer." JJ added.

"Can you all meet us at the northern end of the beach? We'll call Detective Sparks and let him know we have agents in the area." Rossi said.

"Sure, but Dave—we don't have our ID's." Emily said, as she, Garcia, and JJ started gathering their beach equipment. "Make sure Sparks knows that, ok."

"We'll see you as soon as we can." Dave said before disconnecting.

JJ, Emily, and Garcia shared a look and sighed. So much for a day at the beach.

HOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILYHOTCHEMILY

It took Hotch, Dave, Derek and Reid over nearly three hours to get to Virginia Beach, even with sirens and police escort. It was nearly one o'clock before Hotch pulled the SUV to a stop. "Dave, find JJ and the others. Reid, Morgan, let's find Detective Sparks."

"I don't understand why we couldn't just go to the Virginia Beach police station?" Reid asked. "Why did we have to come to the beach first?"

"The location of the body is supposed to be significant—according to Sommers." Sommers was the SSAIC in charge of BAU team B. Hotch and the three men hurried down the beach, being met by a trio of LEOs.

"Agent Hotchner, I'm Detective Sparks. The body is this way." The spokesman said.

"Detective Sparks, three members of my team were supposed to meet us here." Hotch said as they approached the crowd of people at the very tip of the beach. "Where are they?"

"Agent Prentiss and her friends are with SSAIC Sommers and his men, sir. They've been waiting for your arrival." The LEO said. "Your, uh, Agent Prentiss, is not too happy. Sir."

"What the hell's going on?" Dave asked, surprised. He'd never expect to hear someone comment on _Emily's _temper. "What happened? Is she all right?"

"She's fine, sir." Sparks said, giving the LEO on his left a glare when the man snorted.

Hotch's face tightened as they got closer to the crowd. As his mind played over possible scenarios that could anger Emily. Not that he actually knew _what_ would be able to provoke Agent Emily Prentiss.

"So what happened?" Dave demanded again.

"Well, there was a bit of confusion. Seems your girls don't exactly look like FBI agents and some of my men didn't realize they were authorized to be there. Until SSAIC Sommers stepped in." Sparks said, "And I want to sincerely apologize for my men, once again."

"Shouldn't you be apologizing to my agent?" Hotch asked, bending down to cross under the police tape.

"I did." The man said, not telling the BAU agent that he'd even offered dinner as an apology. The dark-haired beauty hadn't answered.

Hotch didn't hear. He barely breathed. He didn't notice Rossi's choked laugh, Derek's awe-struck curse. Spencer's comical squeak.

All he saw was dark curls and creamy skin. Red material that was barely there, and long, long legs being kissed by the worn fray of extremely short short cut-off denim shorts.

All he saw was SSA Emily Prentiss in a way he'd never hoped to see her before.

Long, lean, trim—curved, he never would have guessed she had _that _hidden under those professional suits or those army fatigues she habitually wore.

He didn't even see JJ dressed in her own skimpy blue tankini. Didn't even notice Garcia, dressed in a flattering green one-piece of her own.

All he noticed was Emily, surrounded by a good half-dozen LEOs and SSAIC Sommers and his two-man team.

It took him a second to start breathing again, and when he did he turned toward the other male members of his team. Rossi stood beside him, laughing his fool head off.

"Dave. We are at a murder scene." Hotch chided, irritated.

Derek just stood staring, an appreciative grin on his face. He'd long suspected his teammate of being dynamite under her clothes—but seeing her in an unbelievable bikini was a bit out of his imagination. Not that he was complaining. About any one of the female members of his team. There was definitely a reason why Derek Morgan loved the beach, and this was three very clear examples of why.

Reid just stood gawking, occasionally squeaking out a garbled name now and then. He finally was able to speak somewhat coherently. "Morgan. Duh, uh, ummm. Why are we here again?"

"Pull it together, kid." Morgan advised. "They won't appreciate _us _gawking."

Words he needed to hear, Hotch thought to himself as he moved closer. He was _not _standing on some damned beach staring salaciously at his subordinate. Not. No matter how good she looked.

Or how angry.

He watched as her eyes flashed at one of Sommers' men. Watched as her shoulders stiffened—as she snapped out a comment. As she turned at JJ's direction and spotted the male members of their team.

She stalked in their direction, meeting them halfway, her sunglasses pushing the hair out of her face, and allowing him to see just how those big, dark eyes flashed.

He'd never seen her that angry before. He'd seen her coldly ruthless in interrogation, seen her stubbornly determined during a case. Seen her melancholy after a bad case. Seen her embarrassed and wary after waking in his arms. Seen her indignant after he'd accused her of having a hidden agenda. But he'd never seen her that fiery angry.

And it almost made him take a step back. Almost. "Agent Prentiss. Sorry to have to ruin your day off."

She nodded, not really looking at him. Not really acknowledging him more than required by protocol and common courtesy.

The way he'd always treated her.

She turned to Derek, who carried her ready bag slung over his shoulder. Who stood, leering comically, and grinning. "Well, Em…"

"One word, Derek Morgan. Just one word." She threatened, as JJ and Garcia moved in closer.

"Gotcha." Derek handed her the bag, and raised his hands in surrender. But the sight was even better up close, and he had a feeling he'd never look at his friend the same way again. "Here's everything you requested."

"Finally." Emily muttered, unzipping her bag and pulling out a t-shirt and pair of pants, while JJ did the same to hers, all the while grumbling under her breath so low that the male members of the team strained to hear. "Damned leering, juvenile, perverted, apes. Act like they've never seen a female before."

Hotch's brows rose, but she didn't see. She turned her back to him and pulled the shirt over her head quickly, all the while mumbling curses and invectives, ending with "Can't even enjoy one lousy day at the beach. One lousy damned day. Son of a bitch."

Derek turned around, back to the women, as Garcia and JJ—as well as Emily—quickly dressed in more work-appropriate attire. Derek laughed, egging Emily's rant on. She continued, adding in a bit about laughing monkeys who thought ogling apes were funny. Dave burst out laughing as well.

Hotch looked at Rossi, his surprise showing, and the older man just laughed all the harder. He ignored the glare the woman sent his way. His words were thrown over his shoulder as he turned around to give the women a modicum of privacy."Sorry to ruin your day, Emily. So what did Sparks have to apologize for?"

If possible, Emily's face got even darker as she dropped the denim shorts right there in the midst of the team, not giving them any more warning. Hotch hadn't the time to turn around, and then he didn't think to. He nearly swallowed his tongue and he heard Reid's sharp intake of breath. He hadn't turned around quick enough, and he'd seen more of his colleague than he'd ever expected to see.

Her swimsuit bottom was more decorous than Hotch would have expected from the cut of the top—such that it was, and was covered quickly as she pulled on the dark fatigues. He was vaguely aware of JJ's own striptease beside her, but it wasn't the younger woman who'd caused him to nearly sink to his knees. Soon the only thing left for Emily to don was her gun belt and shoes and socks, which she made quick work of, using Rossi's helping hand as a balance. It took maybe two minutes for her to go from goddess of the bikini to professional agent. "You can all turn around, now."

And she didn't even act as if she knew he—they—were even there. As if she'd not noticed that of all the men—he hadn't turned around. Had watched the entire show. As if having him there didn't matter. As if he was a cold, sexless, robot whom she didn't even care saw her.

As if he was nobody important. No one worth being concerned over.

And he wasn't. He was just her boss, the supervisor she was required to report to. Not a friend like Morgan, like Rossi, Reid, Garcia, or JJ. Just the boss she didn't even like, didn't even acknowledge, didn't even notice.

And that put an end to any fantasy he may have had lurking beneath his skin about him and her in a much more than superior-subordinate relationship.

Dave had been wrong. Hotch might have been developing feelings for her—or at least a good, healthy dose of lust—but Emily Prentiss would never reciprocate those feelings.

Today just proved that.

And he'd just have to live with that.


End file.
